The Rural Voice, 1985-07, Page 34iGISELE IRELAND
Annual trek to the berry patch
Homemakers across the country
are caught up in the first throes of
preservation fever. They are hulling,
mashing, slicing, and stirring. The
strawberries are ready!
Before the jars of jam can be brag-
ged about and the packages plunked
into the freezer, someone has to pick
the berries. For years the local grocer
took care of that for me; I ordered
and he delivered. But word reached
me that heaps of money could be sav-
ed by going out and picking your
own. I tossed the suggestion around
with Super Wrench at the beginning
of this berry season and he was not
enthusiastic and informed me that I
had better things to do with my time
than picking strawberries. I was,
however, undaunted.
My first trip to the berry fields was
an experience that many others have
gone through and that is definitely
worth relating. At the entrance of the
farm, a sign proclaimed that no pets
or young children were allowed in-
side. Those appeared to be the only
rules. I was given a number and
directed to the two rows that were
mine to pick.
Laden with several baskets, I began
to pick berries for my family. 1 soon
discovered that this job was not
without a few fringe benefits. The
other pickers provided entertainment.
The lady on my right wore a pair of
cut-off shorts and a stretchy tube top.
Given the frontage the top had to
cover, it was a blessing that the top
stretched. The entertainment began
as she bent over the berry rows. The
top defied all laws of gravity and
the gentleman next to her had his eyes
trained on it waiting for a major
fallout. He frantically picked the odd
berry here and there in a desperate at-
tempt to remain a few steps ahead of
her so that he wouldn't miss a thing.
The couple on the other side of me
must have been in a hurry. I can't
think of any other reason why they
would constantly sneak over and rob
my rows. They glanced back at me
periodically to see if I would retaliate.
I had a firm lid on my temper that
32 THE RURAL VOICE
morning and let the indiscretion con-
tinue.
I filled the first basket and placed it
at the end of my row, and started to
fill the second. I caught up with
another couple — the man was pick-
ing berries and the woman was stuff-
ing her face. His complaints about
being dragged out here in the first
place were punctuated by the chomp-
ing of his mate as she popped yet
another juicy fruit into her mouth.
He then lectured her on the horrible
diseases she would contract from the
sprays used on the berries. He con-
tinued to whine at the same pace she
was eating.
The lady in the tube top was now
neck to neck with me, and the tube -
top watcher still just a shade ahead.
We were confronted by a lady wear-
ing a voluminous cotton skirt which
frequently caught the playful breezes
and gave us all a pretty good idea of
what she was hiding underneath it.
The tube -top watcher perked to atten-
tion immediately, forgetting about
the berry picking altogether as he
alternated between the tube top and
the blowing skirt. It was obvious that
he wasn't there for the fruit, but for
the benefits.
I finished the second basket and
went to place it beside the first one. It
was gone. One of those innocent
looking berry pickers was a thief. I
realized that if I didn't get a hitch in
my gitalong I would be watching the
sunset, and I dragged the one filled
basket along with me as I picked
some more.
I had not filled all the baskets I had
planned to when the sun overhead
convinced me that it was quitting
time. Half the field of pickers got the
same idea, which resulted in a traffic
jam at the weigh and pay station.
Some 30 -odd cars were sitting in a
line-up waiting to go home. The
waiting was monotonous. The silence
was broken periodically by someone
yelling out the window of a car, either
accusing the car in front of stealing
berries or shouting words of impa-
tience about the turtle approach to
the exit.
My own boredom was solved by
eating some of the berries I had
laboured to pick. By the time it was
my turn to weigh and pay, I was hap-
py that they did not weigh the pickers
in and out. I had gone through a con-
siderable number of berries.
berries.
When I got home six hours later, I
was sick of the sight and smell of
strawberries. My stomach was queasy
and I just couldn't face processing
them by myself. The family pitched in
and came to the rescue. While we
were hulling, mashing, slicing, and
stirring, I told them of my adventures
in the berry fields.
Super Wrench did not come right
out and say "I told you so," but he
did let loose the comment that I had
really cabbaged the market on saving
money. I had picked a basket for
some unknown, had spent six hours
away from home, and had used a
quarter tank of gas. ❑
Gisele Ireland is a pork producer
from Bruce county and has a regular
column in The Rural Voice.
Tell them you saw
their ad in The
Rural Voice
BENTLEY
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